


The Man on the Crucifixion

by BesiegedByLight



Category: The Son - Jo Nesbo
Genre: Jo Nesbo, The Son - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BesiegedByLight/pseuds/BesiegedByLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi Thou, crime overlord of Norway.</p><p>The painting on the wall of Levi Thou's quarters? This is how he got it.</p><p>Only existing fanfiction for any of Jo Nesbo's works. :o Based on the novel "The Son".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Levi Thou liked to be dramatic. He sat in the high-backed, white buffalo hide chair, facing away from them, which was not unusual in their meetings. This made it impossible to read Levi, which may or may not have been the desired effect, but Nor was grateful for it. The Twin was a man that made people nervous. Even his closest, most trusted compatriots were made to sweat in his presence. Or maybe it was that they would sweat even more than the people that didn’t know Levi as well. For Nor, it was easier to talk without having to look at the man.

And it was his turn to speak.

“‘ _The painter’,_ Jørn, who is indebted to you for 100,000 kronor did not show,” Nor announced dutifully, and with a touch of agitation at the news in question. He stared at the table with brown, boyish eyes, picking at an indent in the wood as he spoke. Nor was young, in his early 30s. He had small but full lips, concentrated eyebrows, and a straight nose that accented his straight forehead. His skin was dimpled with several chicken pock scars. He dressed well, but it was apparent in the rest of his almost unemotional demeanor that style didn’t come naturally to him. He got his dark hair trimmed every other week, and it was all to keep up appearances for Levi.

Levi was silent, and for a moment Nor wondered if he would be angry at him. He wouldn’t be surprised, although he had learned that Levi’s temper was very difficult to predict. Sometimes, he had unexpected calm.

“What is _this_? The _artist_ has no money?” Levi’s deep voice resounded. Nor gave a small chuckle that sounded like a wince, unsure of what kind of reaction Levi intended. He then heard a cavernous sigh that gave light to the very size of the ribcage that it came from. Levi was a very big man. “Well? So what are you going to do?”

Judging by the way the four other men at the table all looked at him, with curiosity and surprise, Nor suspected this was an unusual question. Nor was new under Levi’s wing, and he had a hunch that Levi was training him with that question, prodding him to take more responsibility over the situation. It seemed fair. Nor had expected a response more intense. Hostile, even. Perhaps Levi recognized that Nor was a smart man. He didn’t require threats in order to learn.

“I’ll…find him and demand the money?” Nor cringed inwardly. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.

There was a deep chuckle.

“And then when he doesn’t have the money?” Levi queried. “What then? Or do you think he’ll tell you he _has_ the money— he just needs to go home and get it from underneath his mattress?” Nor was utterly embarrassed now, and his peers were watching him, discerning. He was unusually new, and unusually young, to be in a position so close to the overlord. He was sure everyone was very interested to see his success implode violently. He was still just grateful that Levi wasn’t looking at him. He’d witnessed true humiliation at the expense of his peers, this was nothing. Or, it _should_ be nothing. To Nor, it was something. And it was for this acute awareness, he believed, that Levi had taken a liking to him.

“Well, if he doesn’t have the money, then he should be made to pay in another way,” Nor responded, thinking highly of his resilience. The quiet, eagerly entertained looks in his peers’ eyes could die the fuck out, now.

He could see a large finger tapping the white leathered arm of the chair. There was no immediate response, and Nor’s mind raced. Levi was either reflecting, or waiting, and if he was waiting, the implication was that Nor should have something to say. And that Levi should never have to wait.

“When would you like to see him?” Nor asked, his mind running on autopilot. He didn’t have the time to think this through. He said the words while he tried to think if this was the right thing to say, or whether Levi even wanted to personally deal with Jørn. He risked offending the big man.

No one saw the pleased smile that laid itself on Levi’s lips, but they could hear it.

“How about dinner?”


	2. Chapter 2

It was to be treated a serious matter that Jørn was a no-show, even though these things happened not infrequently when people owed Levi money. Nor agreed, 100,000 kronor was a serious matter, but he had suspected from the beginning that Jørn wouldn’t follow up, that he was desperate and didn’t have any other way of getting the money he needed (why else would he be at the mercy of Levi?) He didn’t understand why Levi catered to the man’s financial request. He understood that it was in the nature of the business to take advantage of desperate people, otherwise they would _have_ no business, but surely Levi had some intuition for the people that wouldn’t hold up their end of the deal.

Following the meeting with Levi, Nor found Jørn at an art gallery that he owned in Oslo where he showcased his art. He had tried the man’s home, and when he found the place vacant (Jørn being a bachelor), he decided a quick search of the man online wouldn’t hurt. Which was when he discovered the gallery. It was too easy, any dolt could have done this.

When he reached the gallery and saw Jørn through the window, Jørn was talking to a prospective buyer. Jørn was of average size, dressed in brown, cotton slacks and a comfortable looking, cotton and silk white button up dress shirt. His clothes hung softly on a slim, somewhat muscled figure. He looked about 3 months due a haircut, his brown hair crudely brushed back, but not gelled. He stood with his weight on one foot, gesturing casually with one hand while the other rested, simply, in his pocket. Nor entered discreetly and turned to look at the paintings on the other wall, so that Jørn would not recognize him.

The room was in an old building, but made a nice art gallery, as far as Nor could tell. He knew next to nothing about art, but that didn’t make his judgment less significant. The entire front wall was one large window, and the wall and floors inside were dark, old wood. The paintings were clearly the work of someone who had been painting since they were quite young. Were his parents painters? Nor wondered. Most of the paintings were large, and most were abstract, but Nor spotted a few that were somewhere between impressionism and realism.

After Jørn finished selling a painting and scheduled a delivery, his attention turned professionally to Nor, and he approached him with short, energetic steps.

“I apologize for keeping y-”

“I hope you sold that painting for 100,000 kronor.”

Jørn slowed as he realized who the man was, and his amiable expression changed to a grim one. Nor, who was stockier, turned to face him, both hands in the pockets of his suit pants. Jørn looked back to make sure they were alone.

“You’ll _have_ your money, I _promise_. You _don’t_ need to be here,” Jørn said.

Nor’s blasé expression went unchanged.

“Oh. I guess I can go, then,” he said cooly, idly peering across the room at the paintings hung up high on the far wall, near the banister of the second floor. His gaze wandered for a deliberate moment and then landed on Jørn with hard eyes. “Your _promise_ was to have the money on Wednesday.”

“I’m sorry, something came up. It was impossible for me to be there.” Jørn said. Nor looked at him. Jørn’s tone on the matter, authoritative and desperate, designed to persuade, only made Nor suspicious that he was inventing this excuse. Also, ‘something’. ‘Something’ apparently not worth mentioning.

Nor nodded, seeming to understand. But then he glanced side-handedly at the door, and stepped closer to Jørn, who looked at him unflinchingly.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t believe you.” He spoke levelly. He had to fight to keep serious, to keep from laughing. Surely Jørn saw how pointless all of this was. “But _the Twin_ , you know. He might not be as understanding. I can’t speak for you to him.” He knew Levi didn’t care for his nickname, but Nor liked the effect it had on people. He imagined that the name alluded to the underworld that they operated, which filled some people with uncertainty. A vague idea of what it was they were dealing with. Ghost stories and myths. Legends. He turned and stepped away from Jørn, continuing to look at the paintings. “So how about this. Nothing big, but, how about, you come with me and tell him yourself? He’s extended a dinner invitation to you,” he said, as though this would be genuinely pleasant news.

Jørn reacted as anyone would. Nor spotted the fear sparkle in his eye but thought, _not scared enough._ He had no idea what Levi would have in store for him, but it would probably be enough to make the man desperate to pay him, which he was presently not. Jørn seemed to inwardly register things, and come to terms with his circumstances. He sighed tensely, his eyes looking foggy and distracted now, and he nodded. Nor gave a small smile.

“I’ll, uh…” Jørn straightened up and patted down the front of his shirt. “Let me just grab my key,” he said compliantly, and Nor nodded. Jørn walked around to his desk which was covered in an amount of clutter that contrasted the otherwise neat ambience of the gallery.

“Why do you do this?” Jørn asked confidently, opening a drawer at his desk. Nor looked over, taken off guard by this question that he seemed to ask as an equal. Their eyes met, and there seemed to be a certain significance there. With the excess of items on the desk, Nor couldn’t see Jørn’s hands. When he heard the opening drawer, it suddenly donned on him that Jørn could have a gun, all these guys did, and when he quickly reached for the inside of his own jacket, Jørn brought his hands up, empty and in surrender, consciously clearing the air with a slight look of alarm. Nor ceased his action.

“This job, I mean.” Jørn continued, relaxing some, but looking at Nor pointedly. He contained an edginess now that was unlikely to go away as he gathered his things. “Surely this wasn’t your last resort.”

Nor tittered, relaxing some as well.

“Why do you paint? ‘Surely this wasn’t your last resort.’”

“Well…I paint, because…because it’s what I care about. It’s what gives me purpose, and life. It’s what makes me feel…connected.” Jørn had a clear, intelligent voice, and he enunciated his words in a way that did not come off as pretentious.

“That’s one way you could say it,” Nor agreed. His dialect was much simpler. “Or if it’s really the right job for you, you could say that it’s the one that best utilizes your talents. And…you probably enjoy it, too. Not a last resort at all. As a matter of fact, it was top of the list.” Nor looked at Jørn and smiled helplessly before taking another glance over Jørn’s paintings. Jørn had paused and was looking at Nor heavily before he closed the drawer to his desk, looking set apart and disheartened.


	3. Chapter 3

“Is the Twin going to be angry?” Jørn asked as they sat in the backseat of a cab, on their way to Levi’s restaurant. Nor glared at him, then looked to be sure the driver wasn’t paying attention to them. You never knew when someone would be familiar with the boss’ nickname. “I’ll really have your guys’ money, you know. It’s not a big deal. I’ll have it.”

Content that they were talking quietly enough, Nor looked at Jørn skeptically.

“You’re not shy at all, are you?” Nor wondered if he ought to not start being less pleasant around people. “Perhaps you don’t understand what’s going on; I’m not here to be your friend.” He sighed. “He’ll be angry, yes.” Jørn looked reasonably distraught. “You had a meeting with him, and you did not show up,” Nor explained defensively. “You _owe_ him _100,000 kronor_.”

“I told you, it was impossible for me to be there.”

Nor shook his head, and said nothing. After being around Jørn, he started to wonder if he was telling the truth, but it didn’t matter at all. He’d made a pact with the devil and had failed to fulfill his end of it.

Jørn, unable to sit patiently, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, and it landed right at home between his lips.

“No smoking,” the driver piped, glancing irritatedly in his rearview mirror. The driver had felt something off about these men, a peculiar duo they were. He was eager to get them out of his car.

“I know, I know,” Jørn chided, fidgeting, leaning towards one side, then the other, and looking pointlessly around. The rest of the ride was void of conversation.


	4. Chapter 4

When they got out of the cab, Nor plucked the cigarette from Jørn’s mouth. Jørn seemed not to notice.

“The Twin doesn’t like it when other people smoke in his place.” He then placed the cigarette in his own mouth and lit it, inhaling briefly and exhaling as he spoke. “After you.” He gestured down an alley.

Jørn looked at the deserted, cold-looking alley, then looked at Nor, wondering if there was no dinner, no meeting. If Nor might simply stab him here and then leave him to die.

“The back entrance,” Nor encouraged. Jørn looked at Nor eagerly as the taxi took off.

“Damn,” Jørn mumbled to himself as he walked down the alley. “Oh, damn.” Then, speaking more loudly, “Look, my word is good. What can I say to the Twin so that he sees my word is good?”

Nor looked at Jørn with an earnest shock and he barked a harsh laugh.

“Your word is damned, my boy,” he said in singsong, sucking in on the cigarette. He was starting to relax now that he had Jørn rounded up for Levi, but Jørn was finally starting to get properly fearful. “Look, everything’s going to be fine, just get this over with.” He waved Jørn onward.

Nor snuffed the cigarette out on the brick wall before leading Jørn in through the back entrance of the restaurant. They passed through a dark green curtain that cloaked the exit from the room.

The restaurant was owned by Levi Thou. There was a front section and a back section, separated by the kitchen. The back section was private, and nearly always vacant, except for the fish that occupied the large tank that towered to the ceiling. The light in the room came primarily from the dimly lit water.

Three of Levi’s men were present—four including Nor—and Levi, himself, was where Nor expected to see him. Sitting at his favorite table, where the backlight from the water outlined his huge silhouette. Jørn’s steps faltered and nearly came to a complete halt when this came to his field of vision.

Jørn knew the Twin was monstrous in size, he would never forget the first time he laid eyes on the man. It had left a particularly acute impression on him. The Twin’s mass could not be mistaken for fat, either. The man was muscular, and his every move seemed to have a godlike momentum. Being that they were on questionable terms, Jørn felt much less impressed by the sheer size of the man, and much more intimidated.

The room was partially below ground, and Jørn felt that the real world had disappeared behind that green, velvety curtain. Perhaps anything could happen here, and no one would ever know. He looked to Nor, their acquaintance having placed some sense of familiarity in Jørn, but Nor took no notice of him and walked across to where one of Levi’s other men stood. Jørn glanced in turn, expectant and unsure, to each of the faces watching him. Finally, he was addressed.

“I apologize, you’ve just missed dinner,” a humorless, deep voice resonated from the large figure. “Ah, but that would be…the second time, now, that you’ve missed a meeting with me.”

Jørn was speechless. A shaded arm extended and his hand waved in an unspecific motion. A blond man stepped forward, pulling a chair out from the table before Jørn. At the same time, a waiter removed the plate that sat on the table before the Twin, and left the room.

“But, you are just in time for dessert. Sit,” the Twin said, neutrally. Jørn stepped forward, highly aware of his every step. Sat down, unable to ignore that these were not casual movements. He disliked that his nerves surely showed through, and he tried to remain outwardly calm.

“Let us get to business, shall we?” The Twin sat forward, his height impossibly increasing. Jørn tried to sit steadily. “Do you have what you owe?”

“Um, well,” Jørn stuttered. His brain seemed to have stopped. The Twin raised a well-defined eyebrow. Just then, the waiter returned with two plates. Each had it’s own individual serving of crème brûlée. Jørn, sitting straight, glanced warily at the dessert.

The Twin’s hard gaze lingered on Jørn. Convinced that Jørn had nothing to say, he inspected the plate before him. Apparently unimpressed, he sat back into his chair, reverting his gaze back to Jørn. It was as though he wanted to see how long Jørn would silently squirm without saying anything. Finally, Jørn discovered speech.

“I’ll-”

The Twin sighed.

“You know, I took a risk when I lent you that money. You had no references, but you convinced me that you were reliable, and I gave you that money in good faith. Tell me. _Do you have what you owe me?”_

Jørn resigned.

“No, but-”

“So you mean to tell me, that you were taking advantage of me when I generously provided you with 100,000 kronor?”

“Er, no. I don’t mean to take advantage of you-” Jørn spoke carefully, trying to get a word in before the Twin might cut him off again. But the Twin rose a silencing hand, and for some reason it compelled Jørn to stop talking.

“Now. We have some dessert here to enjoy, yes?”

The Twin waited. Jørn looked at him, startled.

“Yes…”

Jørn picked up his fork, and only then noticed that the Twin’s dish had been served with a fork and a knife. Of course, Jørn wondered if the dessert might be drugged somehow, or poisoned, but he inserted his fork into the crème brûlée, unsure of what else he could possibly do.

“Now, we have yet to pray,” the Twin said, looking at Jørn with some derision. “What would you like to pray for?”

“I don’t know,” Jørn said curtly, only thinking that he couldn’t fake a prayer if he tried. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you to pray?”

“I…I’m not a very religious man.”

“You and I have that in common. But, I am being generous. I’m offering you an opportunity. Suppose that you are on a plane, and it is plummeting to earth. You are going to die.”

Jørn shuddered, looking at the Twin seriously, trying to figure out how hypothetical this scenario was.

“Do you not pray then?” The Twin finished.

Jørn didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t see how it would matter. Would it?

“A prayer would not keep the plane from plummeting to earth, no,” he said, unable to really take the question seriously. The Twin inhaled.

“I find it awfully brave of you, in the face of death, to not even chance a prayer to the possibility of a God of grace,” the Twin said.

Jørn swallowed, uttering wordlessly, and he gently set a hand on the table, as though passively trying to gesture for an interjection. His hand was shaking.

“Fortunately, you do not have to worry about that here,” the Twin went on. Jørn looked up at him hopefully. “You’re not here to die. And if you were, God would not keep that from happening, yes?” The Twin chuckled good-naturedly. “You are here to make amends, are you not?”

The Twin had seemingly set him up, bringing him here just to torment him. But it was almost as though the Twin was offering Jørn an out, now. Jørn would not let this pass him by. He reacted eagerly.

“Yes. Yes, I am, I would love to make amends, I’ll-”

The Twin made a small, amused mutter.

“If you have nothing to pay me with, what do you have to make amends with?” The Twin looked on in puzzlement. He sat up again, setting his left hand on the fork, and picking up the knife in his right hand. His gaze was condemning. Jørn saw, then, that the knife was serrated.That was certainly atypical for a dessert.

Standing aside, Nor watched with silent intrigue. The man he’d met at the gallery, confident and composed, was disintegrating. The man at the gallery had not been this afraid of _him._ The Twin possessed true power. He didn’t know what it was that filled him with such awe, seeing someone ease their self into succumbing, seeing someone slip into compliance and desperation.

“ _I’m sorry_ , I d-” Jørn gibbered.

“When you walked in here,” the Twin asserted, his voice louder, more aggressive. His expression matched his change in pitch. “I could tell, that you were nervous.” Picking up the fork, he gestured at the back entrance with it. “But you were trying to hide it. You do realize, that this was terribly inappropriate behavior on your part, yes? Or are you so stupid, that you do not realize you _should_ be nervous. You should be _scared._ You’re a fool if you’re sitting before me, looking like you don’t know what is going on. Do you know what is going on? Or will you keep looking at me, trying to convince me that you are unafraid? As though you are oblivious to the fact that you have a debt, and that one way or another, you _will_ pay it.”

The Twin made a sudden movement. Assured and swift, a large hand struck down on the hand that Jørn had hesitantly placed on the table minutes before. It was like seeing a python strike at blinded prey. Jørn jumped in his seat. One of the Twin’s men flinched.

“You have come to me today with nothing. So I will have to make a choice,” the Twin went on.

Grimacing, Jørn was trying to tug himself free from the massive hand that had his entire hand pressed down, splayed firmly against the surface of the table.

The Twin brought the serrated knife forward, casually gesturing at Jørn with it.

“Which fingers do I want to take?”


	5. Chapter 5

"Which fingers do I want to take?"

Jørn's repressed and tightly wound anxiety snapped. He yelled out at that, standing up so brashly that his chair kicked out from behind him and toppled over. The upswing of energy in the room was evident in everyone. The way they stood, the way they looked on. Some of the Twin's men were completely unfazed by what they anticipated, enjoyed it even. Others endured it.

For Nor, the fear on Jørn's face made him feel a sympathy and affection for the man, but he felt no conflict. He didn't question that Jørn might not deserve this. He was getting exactly what he signed up for.

The Twin's fingers curled under, and Jørn felt his hand fastened in a viselike grip.

"No, don't! I'm going to pay you, I'm  _going_  to pay you!" Jørn yelled desperately. He fought, vigorously pulling back from the Twin, but the Twin didn't appear to have to exert any spare effort to keep Jørn from freeing himself.

"I  _expect_  you to pay me," the Twin warned. He squeezed Jørn's hand, turning it easily so that Jørn was forced to bend to the Twin's movement. The Twin heard Jørn's immediate response by means of a sharp inhalation, and then he seemed to choke on the air. Jørn tried to resist the pain that instantly pierced his joint in a way that felt very, very wrong, and to stop his wrist from being contorted, he urgently dropped to his knees.

This was where humanity slipped away, and animality overtook.

Nor had once heard the Twin say that violence was, on occasion, an unfortunate necessity. He once claimed to dislike violence. Nor deeply suspected that this was not true.

Looking down at Jørn, who gasped and winced, broke into a cold sweat, the Twin calmly held Jørn's hand so that Jørn's fingers were extended in an array. Their hands were warm. Jørn's, warmer.

Jørn couldn't tell if it was his position that made it impossible to move his fingers, if he was too out of his mind with mad panic, or if the pressure of the Twin's grip had cut off his circulation so that his fingers couldn't move.

The Twin looked analytically at the fingers, as though they might tell him something. Did he want to take his index finger, so that he would never again point with it? Or the middle finger, so that he could never insult someone with it? The ring finger, which was the weakest finger. His pinky, which might not be too difficult to recuperate from. Or his thumb, so his right hand would no longer have opposable function?

The Twin appeared focused, humming quietly, thoughtfully, as he brought the knife nearer to Jørn's fingers. In contrast, Jørn was creating a lot of noise. He was whimpering and squirming, still pulling back on his arm, like a mouse with its paw caught in a trap. He could no longer feel his hand. He pled mindlessly, but the Twin was beyond negotiation.

Amidst his frenetic scrambling, none of the onlookers caught sight of Jørn's spare hand reaching with intent to the waist of his pants. He was right handed, so the small revolver was positioned incorrectly for his free hand, but he grabbed it, and only when he fumbled with a last-ditch effort to grasp the gun effectively did the blond man see what he was doing.

The resulting progression happened in a matter of seconds.

The blond man bolted forward at Jørn as he shouted, his voice straining, "he has a gun!" The Twin took notice of the sudden movement and as the blond man shouted, he became aware that Jørn was struggling with something in addition to his captive hand. The Twin saw Jørn, who was leaning awkwardly, partially propped up by the table, and the gun appear from beneath it.

Inconceivably, the blond man's warning was intact.

The gun's barrel was unfixed as the panicking Jørn tried to point it. He had no time. The blond man was mere steps behind him, and the Twin had processed his momentary shock. The other two men had caught on and were following after the blond man. Nor stood where he was, stunned.

The Twin rose to his feet in a massive, robust motion, his height increasing fully. He was furious, and wrenched unreservedly at Jørn's arm, pulling him closer, to disorient the man's aim, and reached for the gun with his other hand. Jørn was jerked forward and he felt his feet lifted from the ground as he lurched into the table.

A bang was heard, and everyone shuddered at the mere volume of the revolver's death cry. Focus in each individual was momentarily inhibited.

The Twin had faltered at the shot, and it registered in his mind that his subordinates were incompetent, and that Jørn had the nerve to want to kill him. Jørn actually wanted to kill him!

The Twin had never been shot before. He didn't know (or seem to care) whether he had been hit or not, his rage would outdo any gunshot wound. So maybe Jørn had a gun, but the Twin no longer reached for it. He took the painter by the collar of his shirt, and strands of the fabric could be heard splitting. Jørn, involuntarily dragged up onto the table, looked very small next to the big man. The Twin pulled him close, Jørn's feet dangling uselessly over the edge of the table while his face was pulled near the Twin's. He was trying to reassemble himself, bring the gun for another shot, but things were happening too quickly.

The blond man had been trying to disarm Jørn himself, but the gun was pulled out of his reach as Jørn was hauled up.

"The gun!  _The gun_ , sir!" The blond man yelled.

"YOU THINK A BULLET CAN KILL ME!?" the Twin yelled in Jørn's face, throttling him. Jørn cringed terribly, and saw into the Twin's eyes before the Twin thrust him back. As though he was lightweight, as though he was small, Jørn flew back and collided jarringly with a table. The force propelled the table away and Jørn collapsed to the floor. Disoriented and in shock, he lacked resilience.

The blond man and one of the others raced to Jørn. The blond man grasped the gun and wrung it free from Jørn's hold and dropped the gun as they pulled Jørn up by the arms to retain him. Jørn was too jolted to protest.

"DIDN'T YOU CHECK HIM FOR A GUN!?" The Twin erupted, scanning the men and locating Nor. Nor hadn't moved, but looked horrified. His mouth hung open, speechless.

"I should cut one of  _your_ fingers off, but if I took a finger every time you made a mistake, you'd be completely useless!"

Nor had never made a slip like this, but once was enough to mean that it could be in his nature to be inept.

"I'm so sorry, sir, I- I didn't think he had a gun!" Nor shrieked, expecting the worst. And the Twin thought of throwing the table aside, or throwing it  _at_ Nor, but he stopped.

Levi had learned when he was younger, that sometimes he regretted it when he went too far. He didn't like compromising himself. He  _hated_  it. But if he killed or crippled a subordinate whenever he wanted, then it would be bad for the business. People would be too frightened to work for him.

The Twin straightened his jacket, recollecting himself. He cleared his throat, thinking, and looked around the room as though it were empty. Then he looked at Jørn, who was catching his breath, held up by the two men.

After a contemplative moment, his impassive gaze on Jørn became fixated and decisive. Jørn saw this transition, and shook his head pleadingly. Nor stood stupidly, unable to think if he should be doing anything at all.

The room revolved around the Twin, and time seemed to have stopped as he stood where he was. But then the Twin stepped towards Jørn, and time started up again. Jørn felt helplessness, his desperation hitching with every step the Twin made in his direction. He was sure that whatever point the Twin had in all of this, it was already made.

Indeed, Levi Thou liked to be dramatic. Unfortunately for his subordinates, he theatrics were not without intent. Levi was dedicated to his performance, and in this instance, Jørn was going to help him illustrate his objective. That inefficiency and failure to conform would  _never_ go unpunished.

"Please, please," Jørn begged, and as the Twin saw it, this was all Jørn could do now, and it was appropriately mannered.

Jørn felt his body quivering. The Twin was huge, and heated, and each step was slow and savored.

"I'll do anything!" Jørn pleaded. How many times had the Twin heard people say this as though it was tactical persuasion? And as he descended upon Jørn, Jørn, for some reason, yelled out,

" _Nor, please help me!_ "

Maybe it was because Nor had offended the Twin as well.

The Twin halted and turned to look at Nor. Nor's eyes were wide, and he shook his head. The Twin looked predatorily back at Jørn, standing right before him, within hand's reach. Jørn, trembling, looked up at the Twin with complete animalistic fear, devoid of his humanity.

Nor, for reasons he couldn't understand, felt guilty. He felt no desire to help Jørn, but he had not checked Jørn for firearms before bringing him to the Twin and he somehow felt as though the suffering taking place now was worse, or partially his fault. That maybe it would've been over with were it not for him.

"Let's see his hand," the Twin ordered, never pulling his gaze away from Jørn. "Table," he motioned with his hand, and Nor hustled over and repositioned the table that Jørn had inadvertently moved moments before. The blond man pulled Jørn's hand forward for the Twin.

"Do you know what's going on, now?" The Twin snarled, his deep voice reverberating, and he insouciantly took Jørn's hand once again. His hand was exchanged from the blond man to the Twin as though an object. "You look appropriately scared, now." Holding Jørn by the wrist, he planted the hand on the tabletop. The man still holding Jørn's other arm placed his hand on Jørn's shoulder, bracing him. Jørn was whimpering and starting to breath deeply, and unevenly. "But in case you don't understand— _knife_ ," the Twin held out his other hand. The blond man fetched the serrated knife and placed it in the Twin's hand. "This is amends for your  _inconveniencing_  me. This is payment for  _you_ not keeping your  _word._ You  _still_  owe me 100,000 kronor."

Jørn was cringing and wining, shaking his head and pleading. He might've been crying, but maybe not, it was hard to tell. Nor felt shame. The Twin brought the knife lightly to the base of two fingers, the ring finger and the pinky. Jørn had slim, expressive fingers. His nails were shaped and clean. The serrated edge of the knife dimpled the skin.

" _Noo, I'm sorry, p-please—"_

"I don't know if this will cut through the bone," the Twin said as an afterthought, playacting uncertainty. He set the knife down on the table. "Let's make this a little easier, yes?" He took hold of the two fingers, and Jørn looked on in wide-eyed horror. The Twin took the fingers, and pulled. Pulled until they popped from their sockets, and the skin at the joints stretched. Jørn cried out, then cried out louder. Nor nearly vomited. Resuming the knife, the Twin cut through the boneless skin at the joint of the fingers. The cut was not a neat one.

Jørn shrieked and flailed. The Twin let him go, and thought of an animal as Jørn writhed and embraced his arm, crying out and yelling unintelligible words. The Twin had one last message for Jørn, but didn't think he'd hear it. So he advanced on Jørn, taking his small neck in his large hand, and forcing him to look at him. Jørn was sniffling like a child. All of his behavior made the Twin think of a child in a tantrum. Funny, what men could be brought to.

"I'm gonna be generous, and give you an entire month to get the money, then, if you fail me yet again, I'll take something much  _more_  inconvenient to you." Without meaning to, the Twin was squeezing Jørn's neck, and Jørn gaped breathlessly. "Maybe something I can  _sell_ for 100,000 kronor. Get him out of here," he finished, casting Jørn aside and turning to Nor. He approached Nor, now.

Nor couldn't run, but he wanted to. He couldn't turn on the Twin if he had any hope of ever rectifying himself. The Twin held out his hand, palm open. Nor certainly didn't want to lose fingers, but he had dedicated himself to the Twin, and he had to prove this dedication. Looking down in remorse, he lifted his hand.

The Twin, sneering unpleasantly, took Nor's ring finger and pinky and snapped them.


	6. Chapter 6

Jørn was busy with a prospective client.

Nor entered the gallery indifferently, pausing and glancing around as the door clicked quietly shut behind him. Jørn did a double take, recognizing Nor immediately, but continuing with his client as though he had not noticed him. Nor didn’t look at him at all, not even a glance upon entering the gallery, but expected his presence was known.

He listened to Jørn’s talking and thought, he sounded okay. Like before. Normal, day-to-day Jørn, who had not just traumatically lost two fingers to the overlord of the Norwegian underworld. A month had done him well.

Nor paced the exhibit, taking on an earnest interest in the art. In a month, he had collected money from innumerable patrons of the Twin’s. Not all had had their payments, and those suffered for it, but for some reason, Nor felt a discord coming here to Jørn again. He liked the man.

Small talk wasn’t exactly appropriate, but he wondered how Jørn really was. Did people stare at his deformed, bandaged hand as he gestured with it, or did the hand stay hidden away in his pocket now? Did people ask about it? Surely he had been asked a time or two. What did he say? “Had a run-in with the mafia, and they took my fingers.” Nor turned and looked back at Jørn, who glanced at him, and he found himself repressing a small smile. Jørn really did not look the type. Maybe that was why he felt some sympathy for the man. He was different from the others.

As he idled passed a few paintings, something very strange came to his attention, and he stopped in his tracks. It was hard to make out, but, it almost looked like…

Nor looked quizzically back at Jørn, who was still engaged in conversation, and then he moved closer to the object of interest. As he got closer, it came into clear, unmistakable focus, and all Nor could do was stare. Astonished, unnerved, stunned.

“Thank you for your help. I’ll be sure to let you know what we decide,” the client said.

“Yes. Thank you so much for stopping by again,” Jørn said, considerate and humbly charming, as the client took leave.

All was still, and once the door clicked shut, there was silence. It was a comfortable silence, in a way. Nor was unable to interrupt his survey of what he saw before him. Jørn went unmoved, allowing the moment to idle, possibly even embracing it, before engaging with the inevitable. He wondered what would happen, but he didn’t want to toy with possibilities. So he finally acknowledged Nor, looking at him from across the room, as Nor looked at the painting. He approached the man, his arms crossed lightly.

“This is a curious piece,” Nor muttered, his expression flat.

Jørn stopped at his side, looking at Nor, and then at the painting, unsure of how to go about this.

The painting was religious in nature. It portrayed a crucifixion, and it was the figure on the crucifix that had baffled Nor. He doubted that Jesus had looked that strong when he was on the cross. Actually, no one, ever, looked that strong. Except for one person. Nor pursed his lips and smiled wanly to himself.

“I… get a lot of questions about this one,” Jørn admitted quietly. “It’s very different from the others.” As though that was really why.

For the first time, Nor’s eyes left the painting and shifted to Jørn. Jørn looked taken aback, unsure of what to make of this gaging look in Nor’s eyes.

“What do you tell them?”

Jørn seemed to relax at the question. He shrugged, looking at the painting with some apathy as he shook his head. He took a slow, deep breath. Nor stared at him, feeling conflicted.

“I tell them…that I believe goodness is at the heart of humanity. But that I’ve recently found that there are some outliers. And that is what the painting embodies, for me.”

Nor looked at him, tense, and calculating.

“Is that what it really embodies?” Nor asked doubtfully, barely moving his lips. He glanced down at where Jørn’s hand was, but couldn’t see it, and Jørn shifted his arms, crossing them more tightly.

“Pfft,  _no_. It embodies the fact that I met a  _huge_  asshole. In  _every_  sense of the word. Huge asshole,” he added facetiously, glowering at Nor. “Who I won’t admit to people, actually exists. Because they’re better off thinking this is fictional.”

“Thinking this is fictional?” Nor prompted. “That…the Twin is  _the devil?_ ” He rose his eyebrows.

Nailed to the crucifixion, the Twin had two horns erupting from his forehead, and red eyes burning like embers. Aside from that, the picture was a perfect likeness of the Twin. Even his muscles, bulging from the seams of his suit, hadn’t been exaggerated.

“Well.” Jørn became reticent, looking at the painting instead of at Nor. “That day,” he went on, his voice becoming tighter. “I…felt like I’d looked into the eyes of the devil,” he said matter-of-factly, shrugging again. These words were not easy to say. They were crazy. Lunacy. Nor could tell from the way they were forced out of Jørn’s throat that he meant it, too.

Nor looked like he didn’t know what to do with this information, like it all weighed on him heavily.

“Not a religious man, huh.”

“I’m not. But that doesn’t mean that something so horrible—” Jørn finally gestured at the painting, but the true emphasis was the bandaged hand that he gestured with. Nor felt his stomach tighten. “—wouldn’t  _prompt_  me to  _feel_  like there’s something really evil in this world.”

“Okay…”

Jørn looked heated now, but Nor’s expression remained unchanged. He felt for Jørn, but did Jørn recognize that he put Nor in a difficult position?

Nor finally turned to face Jørn, dismissing the present conversation.

“Look, I'm here to get the Twin's money. So, let’s have it.”

Jørn paused, then nodded. He went around to his desk, and Nor followed him to make sure Jørn didn’t get up to anything else. He watched as Jørn uncovered a safe built into the desk extension. Jørn pulled from the safe what looked like a plastic grocery bag, and pushed it into Nor’s hands. Nor eyed the bag of choice, raising an eyebrow at Jørn.

“100,000?” Nor asked reluctantly.

Jørn looked down guiltily, searching for words. Now it was Nor that was heated.

“ _God dammit,_ do you want to  _die!?_ ” Nor spat, nearly throwing his hands in the air.

“Of course not!” Jørn retorted. “You don’t think I tried!? Tried to get every damn kronor that I could  _get_ for  _his majesty!?_ ” Jørn threw a look at the painting and Nor laughed.

“You better become a religious man soon, because you could  _really_ use some extra help.”

Jørn looked at Nor deeply.

“It’s a lot of it. Right there, that’s a lot of money. I’m  _going_ to have the rest, I  _want_  to take care of this debt, the Twin’ll  _have_ his money.”

Nor shook his head, chucklingly madly.

“You don’t understand. You don’t understand.”

Jørn looked at him pleadingly.

“Okay, look,” Nor said, handing the bag back to Jørn, who held it uncertainly. “Just… hold onto that. I’m gonna make a call. I’m gonna step outside and make a call, and you stay here.” Nor was tongue-tied, and trying not to give off any particular cue as to what was going on. The last thing he needed was for Jørn to become difficult.

“Are you calling the Twin?” Jørn croaked, and Nor could tell that Jørn hadn’t completely overcome his trauma, that the agony he was crumbling into now was a shade of something much deeper and darker than he would’ve been able to feel over a month ago. “ _Please,_ just give him the money.”

But Nor was already stepping aside, giving Jørn a “1-minute” signal without looking at him, and stepping outside the storefront. Jørn looked on woefully.


End file.
